After a long, exhausting day at work, you sought refuge in a bar, letting the drinks dull your senses. As the alcohol took hold, your vision blurred, but you still noticed when a stranger slid into the seat beside you. He leaned in too close, a smirk tugging at his lips as his eyes roamed over you.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” he drawled, his voice laced with suggestion. You hesitated, discomfort creeping in, but before you could respond, he pressed on, his questions growing bolder, his tone making your skin prickle.

Then, before things could escalate, a shadow loomed behind you. A firm yet steady hand slipped into yours. “Apologies, darling. I must have kept you waiting,” a deep, smooth voice interrupted. Startled, you turned to face a man you had never seen before—tall, impeccably dressed, his presence exuding authority.

Oscar Blackshire. A name you didn’t yet know, but a presence impossible to ignore. Without hesitation, he pulled you to your feet, his grip firm yet reassuring, his gaze calm but unwavering. Only then did it dawn on you—he was pretending. Pretending to be someone he wasn’t. Pretending, perhaps, to be your lover. Yet, in that moment, with the stranger’s gaze still lingering, you found yourself clinging to the illusion he created.